


They weren't going to say anything either!

by JohnLockDivision



Series: Who was going to say anything? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnLockDivision/pseuds/JohnLockDivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is 'They weren't going to say anything' from John and Sherlock's POV. Don't need to have read 'They weren't going to say anything' to read this :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2 months

**~John~**

It had been 2 months since Sherlock had returned, and John still couldn’t quite believe it. Just the fact that he was once again waking up in his old room in Baker Street seemed like a blessing after he had moved out during Sherlock’s....absence.

Just thinking about the last two months made John’s head spin – remembering the initial shock and anger at seeing Sherlock stood outside his front door, his disbelief only subsiding after his fist had confirmed that Sherlock was indeed standing before him. It had only taken a week for John to move in, although things weren’t quite back to normal, and the air between them still seemed charged with...something. Something that John didn’t want to put a name to just in case.

 

He would have liked to remain with his thoughts for longer, when he suddenly realised that he couldn’t hear anything from downstairs.

Not.

One.

Thing.

No violin. No kettle. No papers.

No sign of life of any kind.

Suddenly, John was recalling other memories – the days like this that he had woken up and spent a few blissful minutes thinking about Sherlock before hearing the silence and realising that his only was gone.

Those were not good memories.

However, since being back in Baker Street, Sherlock seemed to have sensed this – filling the flat with small noises every morning, just to let John know he was around. So why could John not hear anything this morning?

Assuming Sherlock was simply thinking, John made his way blearily to the living room, upon which he noticed no sign of Sherlock.

And John panicked.

 

John called for Sherlock, making his way rather quickly towards the door, slipping on a pile of papers that Sherlock had left scattered about as he did so.

As soon as he reached the stairs he realised how foolish he had been – for there was Mrs Hudson, looking at him with a rather amused expression, and Sherlock, with an expression he did not recognise, which was soon gone and replaced with his usual face of ‘Oh-John-aren’t-you-ridiculous’.

Stammering out a morning greeting for Mrs Hudson, and attempting to find a way to explain his actions, he was almost relieved when she interrupted...that is until she mentioned that she had always felt the same when her own husband was missing when she woke up.

“Oh, well, uh...we’re not really....I mean....”

This time John definitely was relieved to be interrupted – this time by Sherlock suggesting that he might like his first cup of coffee before continuing.

John gladly conceded, but not for the reason that Sherlock may assume. He wasn’t embarrassed because Mrs Hudson thought they were a couple – he was embarrassed by how badly he wanted it to be true, and for how long he had wanted it.

Deciding that it was probably a conversation best had in private, he extended Sherlock a not-so-smooth invitation to breakfast, allowing himself a touch of his arm, before making his way back up the stairs.

**~Sherlock~** Watching John walk back up the stairs, Sherlock almost missed Mrs Hudson’s careful dismissal, and assurance that he could talk to her about whatever it was after breakfast.

Humming a noise of agreement he followed John up, knowing that he wouldn’t need Mrs Hudson’s advice later, as it appeared that John had once again surprised him.

 

Entering the flat, Sherlock noted that John had made no move towards the kitchen, but was instead stood by the window in contemplation. Turning his head on Sherlock’s approach he smiled a small, abashed smile and began moving towards Sherlock, who had himself began moving towards John, meeting awkwardly in the middle of the room.

They stood like this for what seemed like an age, although what was probably more like minutes, before John muttered “Sod it.”, pulling Sherlock down into a kiss.

However, caught off guard, and unused to having hands on the back of his neck (unless they were his own when he was being arrested) Sherlock jerked back – stumbling as he did so and falling, slightly ungainly, onto his chair.

 

It took Sherlock a moment to realise what had just happened, although in that time John had assumed he had made a mistake and was halfway through an apology when he himself was caught off guard and pulled onto Sherlock’s lap – before their lips met once again.

Sherlock being the one to instigate the kiss this time, John wasted no time in returning it – both of them wondering if the other had been harbouring these feelings for as long as they had (Sherlock had loved John for longer, although John was aware of his love for Sherlock sooner).

 

Eventually breaking for air, Sherlock couldn’t prevent the smile that crossed his face.

“Breakfast?”

“Lazy git.”

As John moved towards the kitchen, leaving with another quick peck, Sherlock moved towards the table, clearing enough space for the two of them to sit, smiling to himself silently, and even winking at the skull –knowing that Mycroft had lost the pool.

 

And if the pair had noticed Mrs Hudson’s knowing smile later that day, well...they weren’t going to say anything. After all, she had thought them together the first time she saw them.


	2. 3 Months

**~Sherlock~**

 

Despite only being back for 3 months, Sherlock had somehow managed to foil 2 drug rings and uncover a human trafficking operation, so when he got the latest call from Lestrade he made no time in collecting John from the kitchen and hailing a cab.

 

Leaping from the cab and striding purposefully up to the office, noting everything along the way, he took the chance to deduce Lestrade while John caught up. Content that both Molly and Lestrade were content with their new relationship (and confirming that it had, indeed, been down to John that either of them had gained the courage to begin it in the first place), Sherlock led the way into the office, immediately discounting the manager as a suspect.

He had obviously never seen her before; the body had obviously been placed to suggest an affair...but he had just welcomed a new baby so...THINK! There must be a link. Obviously someone with an association with both...but how could the body get to the office without being seen? A private entrance maybe, but who...no clear motive yet.

 

Finally turning his sights to the body in question – some sort of cleaner, aspirations of becoming a trophy wife, would settle for mistress. 34, obvious plastic surgery in an attempt to place age in late 20’s, but botched nose job would deem this unsuccessful...although, that didn’t make sense. Why would she require plastic surgery unless...oh. OH. FANTASTIC

Grabbing John’s hand and pulling him out the room, telling Lestrade to pay attention to her nose as he did so, Sherlock raced to the manager’s house and then the local plastic surgery clinic – confirming his suspicions.

 

After a few hours (and a close call with syringe of Botox) later, the plastic surgeon was arrested after returning to the scene of the crime, the pair left the office for the second time this day – this time with John leading the way, pulling a very smug Sherlock behind him.

 

**~John~**

Stopping in a deserted corridor, John rounded on Sherlock, the self-satisfied git.

 

“Ok, Sherlock – what the HELL was that?”

 

Sherlock snapped out of his post-case haze in confusion.

 

“Excuse me?” 

“How soon did you know it was him?” 

“When I saw ‘Jenny’s’ nose.” 

“Her nose? What...” 

“Her nose John! Her NOSE!” 

“Sherlock, I swear to God if you don’t start making sense...”

 

Suddenly John found himself face to face with a rather gleeful Sherlock.

 

“Like the nursery rhyme John!” 

“The...the nursery rhyme? You remembered a nursery rhyme?” 

“Yes John...and as charming as you look with that smile, I would rather not be laughed at.” 

“I’m sorry but, you – Sherlock Holmes. Mr ‘the solar system is irrelevant’ himself has retained information about nursery rhymes?” 

“Of course John – they will be vital for our children’s development.” 

“Children? Sherlock, you’ve considered children?” 

“Of course John. Do keep up.” 

“Ok. So, moving past the whole kid thing for now – you’ve got to tell me which nursery rhyme.”

 

And just like that Sherlock was spinning John around in a circle, singing about birds and pies, before kissing the now laughing John on his nose in a rare public display of affection and joining John in his laughter.

 

And if either of them noticed Lestrade briefly before he backtracked...well, they weren’t going say anything. After all, they were in no rush to answers questions; about the case or otherwise.


	3. 5 Months

**~Sherlock~**

 

Sitting at his microscope, Sherlock was in the middle of analysing his results from a recent experiment when Molly entered; a slight pause, increased breathing, slight sigh. So she was no longer infatuated, but still attracted to his body. Interesting. Unlikely that she and Lestrade had become ‘physical’ yet then.

 

Doing his best to ignore Molly and her frantic thoughts, Sherlock was forced to break his façade of deep concentration due to an ill-timed text from John, no doubt finally finished with the hypochondriac and replying to Sherlock’s earlier text.

 

[John]

No you can’t bring a cadaver home! P.S Be nice to Molly.

 

“Uh...what was that?”

 

“John.”

 

Honestly, was she always so dull?

While watching her attempt to collect her thoughts, Sherlock received a second text, cutting off any ideas she may have managed to form.

 

[John]

Are you ignoring me because I ignored you earlier?

 

Sherlock could have kissed John (and he would later) for his perfect timing, and it continued for the next 10 minutes (presumably while John was with a rather boring patient...most likely blind or deaf if John was able to text...too near the end of his shift for him to be on break).

 

[John]

There’s a reason I was ignoring you Sherlock – I’M AT WORK.

 

[John]

And yes, I know I’m still at work, but Mrs Seymore is blind and has spent the last 10 minutes trying to give me a date with her neighbour – Mary something.

 

[John]

Don’t worry - she sounds far too boring. Some sort of teacher.

 

[John]

It’s almost the end of my shift, so I should go before Mrs Seymore talks me into my early grave, or marrying her neighbour.

 

[John]

Remember – NO CADAVERS. But if you’re nice to Molly she may let you borrow some fingers.

 

Deciding that a hand wasn’t so much worse than fingers, he asked Molly to fetch one for him; although why she thought that meant he wanted coffee...perhaps he should ask John later.

 

Following her to the morgue, he once again received a message from John, informing him that he was on his way back to Baker street, and once again reminding him to ‘be nice’ to Molly.

Thinking it couldn’t do any harm now that he was in a relationship, as was Molly, he complimented Molly on her new hairstyle, although he didn’t understand why that would make her feel better.

                He was pleasantly surprised when Molly offered him extra appendages, although he felt obliged to turn them down, in order to make sure that John could fit his jam into the cupboard (he would, however, note that compliments were useful.)

He briefly noticed that Molly was looking concerned, although he didn’t have the chance to work  out why as at that moment John decided to inform him that he was home...and wearing nothing but his underwear...and Sherlock couldn’t get home quick enough.

 

**~John~**

 

John wasn’t surprised when Sherlock burst through the door of Baker Street 5 minutes later. However, he was so shocked when Sherlock told him a few hours later that Molly had offered him the extra body parts _and he had turned them down_ , that John leaned over and felt his head for a fever, before Sherlock assured him that ‘honestly, John, I am quite well.’ And proceeded to tell him, with that sullen pout of his, that after last time, he wanted to make sure that there was room for John’s jam in the cupboard...leading to John explaining that he could just as easily keep his jam in the fridge (although while explaining why he liked jam so much, they ended up emptying the jar anyway – making the point moot.)

 

All of this led John to decide to do something nice for the soppy git, and so he proceeded to morgue after leaving work exactly 20 minutes early, so Sherlock wouldn’t suspect anything. Of course, this didn’t prevent Sherlock from texting him every 30 seconds, resulting in a very amused smile from Molly.

 

And if either of them noticed how Molly no longer wore make up around Sherlock, or the fact that she had a personalised text tone of her own a few weeks later....Well, they weren’t going to say anything. After all, she was still providing Sherlock material to experiment on, while simultaneously keeping John’s jam in mind.


	4. 8 Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If anyone is reading this, I've been slower posting this chapter than the rest, but I've just done a ton of exams. Luckily I've only got one left, so it shouldn't be too long until the rest of the chapters arrive! 
> 
> Thanks if you are reading this! :)

**~John~**

 

John knew it was their 6 month anniversary, but knowing how Sherlock hated ‘sentiment’, he decided not to make a big deal about it – not that Sherlock would even realise. (Sherlock also knew it was their six month anniversary, but having never been in a relationship before, he was taking all his cues from John – and so if John didn’t notice, or wasn’t making a fuss about it, then neither would he.)

 

Coming home from his shift at the surgery – a favour for Sarah after one of the doctors had called in sick again – John smiled fondly at his boyfriend ( _boyfriend._ It still sent a shiver through him.) perched at his microscope...and he really was...perched...there.

Sensing something other than excitement, something John would have called nerves had it not been Sherlock Holmes, John decided to wait for Sherlock to come to him – not wanting to disrupt his experiment – and set about making two cups of tea. Surreptitiously placing his gift-or-not (depending on how Sherlock reacted to it) into the fridge at the same time. Heading towards the couch, passing Sherlock his tea along the way, John turned on the T.V, before tuning it out in favour of wondering what was wrong with Sherlock, and how long it would take to find out.

He got his answer almost half-an-hour later, when Sherlock called John into the kitchen with a voice that John couldn’t read.

 

Entering the kitchen John was met with the sight of Sherlock looking confusedly in the fridge, before he rounded on John.

 

 “What is this?”

 

To anyone else, he would sound demanding, perhaps slightly angry. But John knew his boyfriend and he could hear the hurt, confusion and desperation (hopefully for an answer) in Sherlock’s voice.

 

“It’s a fridge Sherlock. I know you delete things but honestly...”

 

“ _I know that John_. But why is there a _head_ in it?”

 

Oh. So Sherlock hadn’t accidently deleted information about fridges again. But then that didn’t explain why he was currently looking at John with a strange mix of desperation...and expectation, as well as hope? Could it be...

 

“Um, well I figured that as you never got to finish the experiment you were doing on the head last time, and given that today is...well. So, I..uh....asked Molly for it.”

 

By this point John had rubbed his neck to hard that it was hurting, while staring at anything but Sherlock, so he was a little shocked when he heard Sherlock ask, with a voice so full of hope that he didn’t think it could have possibly come from Sherlock Holmes, what the day was.

 

“Well it’s, uh, our...um.”

 

“Our what John?”

 

“Six month anniversary. And I know you don’t really appreciate sentiment, but I wanted to get you something just in case, and I...Sherlock are you alright?”

 

Sherlock seemed to be having some sort of face spasm. Apparently, he didn’t know how to feel – alternating between happiness, sadness and some other emotions that John couldn’t read because suddenly Sherlock was covering his face in kisses.

 

“Sherlock, just calm down and tell me what all that was about.” John giggled.

 

Smiling radiantly at John, Sherlock managed to explain in one mad rush, “Well, you remembered! But then I wasn’t sure if it’s usual to celebrate 6 month anniversaries, not my area as you know, but you remembered! But I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure if it was proper, _but you remembered_! And you got me a head! And, oh...I haven’t got anything for you.” Sherlock broke off with a pout.

 

John took a moment to dissect the Sherlockian ramble, before replying tentatively, “So...you’re happy because I remembered our anniversary, and that I want to celebrate it, and I brought you a head. But you’re sad because you haven’t got me anything. And...angry because I never mentioned that I was getting you anything?”

 

“YES! Yes, yes, yes, yes...yes.”

 

“O...kay then. Look, I don’t mind that you haven’t got me anything – I know you don’t go in for sentiment, which is why I wasn’t going to mention anything. Let’s just have some dinner, and then you can let me watch crap TV and take me to bed early.”

 

“John! Be serious!”

 

“I am serious. Chinese or Indian?”

 

“Neither. It will not do. It’s our anniversary, and as I have neglected to buy you anything, we’re going to go out.”

 

“Sherlock – “

 

“John. Get your coat,” Sherlock smirked, and John couldn’t help but mutter ‘you’ve pulled’ as he pulled on some smarter clothes – no knowing where Sherlock would take him.

 

“So...where to?”

 

“Angelo’s.”

 

“Sherlock...it doesn’t count if it’s free.”

“Please, I know that. I intend to pay tonight.”

 

And with that John found himself lead out the door by a rather happy Sherlock, calling ahead to make sure that their usual table was free.

 

**~Sherlock~**

The pair arrived at their favourite restaurant in time to see a rather disgruntled couple moving to a rather less fanciful table, giving them a look of annoyance and curiosity as they watched the pair slide into their still warm seats.

Noting John’s embarrassment, Sherlock decided that John wouldn’t mind him using his powers for once, as long as he was quiet.

 

“Don’t worry – they’re upset because they were moved, although they are more curious as to whom we are, so they won’t say anything. Also, he intends to break up with her tonight anyway, so the table will make no difference, although we may get a good view of her performance as it appears that she recently put someone in hospital...sister perhaps although – “

 

“Sherlock, stop. I know what you’re doing, so thank you. I’ll let you off this once...but ONLY if you also deduce that couple over there.”

 

Surprised, Sherlock slid his eyes over to the couple, bulging when he noticed Sally Donnovan entering (who had apparently not noticed them yet) and was about to tell John his observations when he was interrupted by Angelo.

 

“Ah, Sherlock – the usual for you and your not-date?” Angelo asked with his typical good nature and wink at John – still not tired of this joke months after being told that the two were – finally – dating.

 

“Of course, although if you could perhaps add extra olives to my pizza.” Angelo winked in consent, heading back to the kitchen, along with additional instruction from John for extra chips and a candle.

 

Sherlock chuckled as John muttered to himself about know-it-all Italian men, waiting for Sally and her date to sit down before reeling off to John what he had learnt.

 

“35, although he’s told Sally 33, Welsh rugby player – moved to London 3 years ago for business; not city, possibly banking, investments likely, as he was late tonight yet doesn’t look stressed. He comes here on a semi-regular basis; we’ve seen him before and he hasn’t studied his menu very long – suggesting that he knows what’s on the menu and is merely checking whether there are any new items or price changes. Definitely better than Anderson.”

 

Sherlock broke off with a smile (he knew John liked it when he explained as he went along) and waited for John’s response (postponed slightly due to the arrival of their meals).

 

“So...does Sally like him?”

 

“Well...”

 

The two spent the rest of their meal discussing Sally and her prospects with her date (whom John had jokingly dubbed ‘Gavin’ due after some other Rugby player that he apparently looked similar to) while absentmindedly picking food from each other’s plate.

 

By the time that the pair had finished their meals, Sally was looking bored, ‘Gavin’ was looking none-the-wiser, and Sherlock and John each wondering whether or not they could have dessert at home when Angelo appeared.

 

“Angelo, I think we’ll take dessert to go this evening.” Sherlock told him before Angelo had had a chance to speak as he was setting another candle on the table.

 

“Ah, you have a case? Do you need help? Just let me know which manoeuvre...”

 

“No, that’s quite alright. We merely decided to leave as...as....”

 

John noticed that Sherlock, for once, didn’t know what to say – possibly as he was once again taking his cue from John as to whether it was ok for others to know about their anniversary, so John decided to make it easier for him.

 

“It’s our 6 month anniversary.”

 

If Angelo was confused as to what had just happened, it was impossible to tell as he suddenly reached for both of their hands before rushing to the kitchen, telling his staff to prepare wine and tiramisu, and no doubt informing everyone in the restaurant that it was their six month anniversary.

 

Sherlock couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips at seeing the momentary surprise and understanding passing over Sally’s face, turning away before she looked towards them as she surely would, and finding that John was looking at him rather intently.

 

“What?” Sherlock scowled, confused yet again by the sudden change in John’s mood. “Did I do something wrong?” About to repeat the exchange in his head, he was put at ease as John just shook his head and smiled warmly at him.

 

“I love you.”

 

“What.”

 

Sherlock realised his mistake as a brief look of hurt passed over John’s face, before John (hopefully) realised that Sherlock simply didn’t quite understand what John had just told him, and, with a sigh, John repeated what he had just said;

 

“I said I love you. Sorry, it just sort of slipped out. You can delete it if you want.”

 

“Oh.” (A bit not good. Should respond. Did he feel the same? _Feelings_. Never was good with _feelings_. No time to think about that now. How to respond? He certainly didn’t want to delete it. John was now looking sad. That made Sherlock sad. John loved him. That made Sherlock happy. _John_ made Sherlock happy.)

 

Clearing his throat, mainly to get John’s attention, but also due to nerves (not that Sherlock would admit that), Sherlock replied after what seemed like an age to John, although Sherlock could tell that it had been 18 seconds exactly.

 

“I think.........that I may.......love...you...also.”

 

Sherlock finished looking to John to see what to do next.

“Uh, right. Good. That’s...good. Very good in fact.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

And that was that. Reaching over to clasp John’s hand, the two exchanged a kiss, before turning their attention towards their dessert that had arrived at their table in a small box, complete with ribbon and wine, and they left after leaving a generous tip (actually paying for their meal for once) and heading back to the flat hand in hand.

 

And if either of them noticed that Sally seemed slightly happier the next day, if not slightly more tired, or the fact that they she called Sherlock by his name as he told her not that John was more reliable than the sports pages...Well, they weren’t going to say anything. After all, it turned out that she wasn’t as bad as they had previously thought, given that she told no-one about their date or mocked them about it, and they all agreed that ‘Gavin’ was far better than Anderson, even if Sherlock estimated he would only last 4 months.


	5. 10 Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Little bit of smut ahead! Nothing explicit, but I've changed the rating just in case! :)

**~John~**

John loved sleep, and hated the sleepless nights he had spent in alleyways, bushes, warehouses and (on one memorable occasion) a barn. John didn’t hate the reason he was in alleyways, bushes, warehouses and barns not sleeping. 

So while John woke up feeling tired and attempting to hate himself and Sherlock for only managing a few hours of sleep, he remembered what they had spent the night doing instead (getting some much needed exercise of the horizontal variety) and couldn’t quite manage to feel anything other than happy.

 

That was until the limpet attached to him suddenly stiffened and shot out of the bedroom with no explanation (not that John expected one).

Allowing himself a few more seconds of peace before the inevitable explosion, be it vocal or physical, that would surely follow Sherlock’s sudden exit from their bedroom, John rolled his legs out of the bed and onto the floor, suddenly noting the sound of voices drifting from the living room. _Ah, Mycroft. Right._

 

John arrived in the living room in time to hear the usual exchange of insults (which John suspected were really disguises for concern, compliments and Holmsien affection) and made his way to the kitchen, tousling Sherlock’s hair as he passed (hmm, softer than that German Caffine one, although he still preferred the Aveda; not that he would let on that he knew about Sherlock’s ‘experiment’) and pointedly ignored Mycroft, knowing he wasn’t awake enough to deal with both Holmes as once.

 

John had just turned the kettle on and was reaching for the mugs when he felt Sherlock behind him, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

 

“John.”

 

“Morning, love. Tea?”

 

Taking the rumble he felt as an affirmative, John proceeded to prepare the mugs, when he felt Sherlock’s smile and mentally braced himself for what whatever Sherlock was about to say.

 

“You know...this morning was rather a disappointment compared to last night.”

 

John couldn’t help but give a small smile as he turned in Sherlock’s arms.

 

“Sherlock, it can’t be helped that Mycroft is here, and besides, the morning hasn’t even started yet. And it’s not going to until I have my first cup of tea.” 

 

Unfortunately John had said all this with a yawn, so he missed the look on Sherlock’s face and the glint developing in his eye as he had heard what John had said. However, John certainly heard when Sherlock practically growled ‘Oh, really?” before he found himself with his bottoms around his thighs and his boyfriend kneeling on the floor in front of him, apparently attempting to salvage the way they had woken up.

 

“Sh-Sherlock! _Christ_. What are you – _oh god_. Oh God, your brother’s out there! Sh-Sherlock...”

 

Momentarily removing himself from John’s cock, Sherlock shot John an exasperated look, and explained that ‘ _Yes_ , Mycroft _was_ currently sitting in their living room, and there he would stay unless John was determined for him to join them, or _should he stop_?’ before giving John no choice in the matter.

John decided that it was nothing Mycroft hadn’t heard before, if he was right about the bugs, and so allowed Sherlock to 'make up for his rude awakening', although John wasn’t an idiot and knew that it was, in part, to spite Mycroft – not that he really cared what Sherlock's motives were in giving him a morning Blowjob.

 

**~Sherlock~**

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Sherlock wiped his face and John’s – ahem – with a tea towel that just happened to be nearby and picked up one of the mugs from the counter, adding the right amount of milk and sugar, before heading back to his chair, taking a moment to send Mycroft a smirk.

Once seated, he watched John, now gone from bleary to blissed, hand Mycroft his tea before perching on the arm of Sherlock’s chair, no doubt as a subtle reminder to play nice.

Although...this didn’t mean he couldn’t deduce, and what he deduced pleased him immensely. Mycroft _hadn’t_ known about him and John. Sherlock _had_ found all the bugs and Mycroft had just been doing some deducing of his own, and now wished he hadn’t. 

Oh this was good.

Mycroft had become slightly uncomfortable; as well he should given what John had, or hadn’t, been wearing the last time he had been sat in that chair. Sherlock also noted the surprise at this revelation now John had just inadvertently confirmed it, along with a collection of other, smaller emotions, such as anger that Mycroft hadn’t know sooner (whether at himself for noticing it or his ‘men’ for failing to tell him.)

Sherlock was going to have fun.                

 

He steadfastly refused to take Mycroft’s case – knowing that Mycroft wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to approach himself and John for at least a week given his newest revelation, and he certainly wouldn’t come to the flat again for a while.

Predictably, Mycroft gave in sooner than usual, obviously itching to leave, and as John showed him out, he could hear him whispering to John about his parents. _Interfering git._

 

By the time John had returned, Sherlock was stood by the window, watching Mycroft step into the car, glimpsing his smile before the door shut.

Turning to say something to John about why they had yet to visit his parents, he was slightly taken aback at the look on John’s face which looked...mischievous. 

 

“John?” 

“Mmm?” 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Well...why don’t you tell me?” John suggested, moving towards Sherlock. 

“Undoubtedly you were thinking about my parents and why he hadn’t visited them yet. You were also wondering whether to ask me if we should go – the answer is no by the way – and, something else...perhaps what the chances are of convincing me to go – which is zero.” 

“Hmm...almost. I was actually thinking about how best to convince you to go, given that the chances are 100%” 

“Oh really?” 

“Really.”

 

And suddenly John was repaying the favour from earlier, and Sherlock found himself, eventually, agreeing to take John to visit his parents.

Not that he would let John know that he had intended to do so all along, as he knew that John liked thinking that he had gotten his own way. 

 

And he had noticed that fact that Mycroft had seemed happy for him. And he noticed when the small bug in the kitchen mysteriously vanished the next day (no doubt within minutes of Mycroft’s daily review of everything recorded that day). And they both noticed when an address turned up on the fridge, but they weren’t going to say anything. After all, it’s not often you find Mycroft Holmes avoiding you or purposefully giving you privacy, so they were going to enjoy it while it lasted.


	6. 12 Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say that this is my favourite chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it!

**~John~**

“So, what should I be expecting?” 

John looked over to where Sherlock was sat next to him in the back of one of Mycroft’s cars, studying the landscape, and noted the slight tightening in his eyes that told John that his boyfriend was nervous. 

“I’m not sure...I haven’t visited for a while. It’s probably bigger than you’re expecting, despite the fact that you know my designer preferences and Mycroft’s diplomacies must come from somewhere. Given the fact that the invitation came from Mycroft, but the reply came from my Father’s study, although written by my mother, they are eager to see me again, although nervous as to whether I’ll want to see them. They are both retired of course, and my father is...” 

“Sherlock,”  

Sherlock turned his eyes questionably to John, the only person allowed to interrupt him without ‘incurring his wrath’ as John had once put it.  

“I know you’re nervous -" 

“Nonsense. You are clearly more nervous than me: you showered and shaved before we left, a routine you usually reserve for morning. You have also polished your shoes and...”  

John simply rolled his eyes and gave Sherlock a quick kiss, one of his favourite ways of shutting him up, before pulling away and looking Sherlock in the eye. 

“I know you are nervous because when you’re nervous you start deducing. Yes, I am nervous too, but at least you know what’s coming.” At this point John placed his finger on Sherlock’s lips, which quickly turned into a pout. “Yes you do. You may not have been back for a while, but they are still your parents and despite your upbringing that means they do still care for you. How you’ve managed to go this long without visiting I’ll never know, but we’re going now. I don’t know whether you’re nervous about how I’ll find them, or how they’ll find me, but I promise that if you behave and we get through this visit, then we never have to come again.”  

John carefully removed his finger, waiting to hear from Sherlock. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise. Now, tell me, succinctly, what to expect. I don’t want deductions, just facts.” 

“Very well....as I said the house is larger than you will be comfortable with...” 

And so John settled in for the remainder of the journey listening to Sherlock explain what John had let himself into, although never once telling him anything about his parents aside from their names.

 

Pulling up to the house around 40 minutes later (along a drive...it had a bloody drive), John noted it was actually slightly smaller than he had been expecting, although it definitely wasn’t the ‘small country house’ Sherlock had been describing – more like a ‘reasonable country manor’, no doubt with a garden bigger than the John’s own family home. 

John couldn’t help but attempt to smooth down his hair, his shirt, his trousers, as Sherlock stood next to him in front of the doors, looking impeccable as always. 

“Do stop fidgeting John. You look quite alright.” 

“Easy for you to say, you look good as always you, you utter...” 

Whatever John was going to say was lost when the doors opened and John was greeted with what could only be Sherlock’s parents, and not the butler that John had expected. 

Sherlock’s mother instantly looked delighted to see her son, although she concealed it rather well, and his father looked mildly surprised to see him.

 

“Mother, Father, this is my partner John.” 

John still felt a slight thrill at being introduced in such a way, but was still childishly annoyed at how perfect Sherlock was looking, and so decided to have a little childish payback. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you – Sherlock has told me nothing about you.”

 

**~Sherlock~**

Despite the fact that it was an almost daily occurrence growing up, and apparently still an unnecessary nuisance, Sherlock suffered through the standard pleasantries, until he suggested that they head to the drawing room, noting that John’s leg would probably give him a bit of trouble if he continued to stand still after the journey they had just had.

Allowing his parents to lead the way, knowing they were taking in everything they could about John without asking, as was the Holmes way, he passed his bags to the servant that had now appeared before entering the drawing room in time to hear his parent’s deductions. 

 

“So, Mr Watson, do you prefer to be called Captain or Doctor?” His father enquired, obviously more leaning towards the army side of John and eager to discuss tactics and share stories (or those stories that he was at liberty to share anyway.) 

“John is fine.” 

Obviously disappointed by his lack of reaction, Violet continued to ask whether he thought his nurturing, doctoral instincts may have come from looking after his younger sister (obviously she was more inclined towards the Doctor in John, mothers always were.)

Sherlock was about to correct her, as was John, when Siger got there first. 

“No, no Violet – look at his tie. If she’s younger it’s by minutes.” 

Sherlock and John each chuckled at this, sharing a knowing look, before John explained to Sherlock’s parents: “My sister is older than me, but don’t worry: Sherlock didn’t realise she was a girl and Mycroft hadn’t given it much thought until he met her...” 

“Actually, he thought she was your cousin, although he did get her age right.” 

Sherlock was rather pleased at the look on John’s face; at the smile and look in his eye that told Sherlock he was just as pleased that Mycroft had got something so drastically wrong. 

Apparently Sherlock’s parents noticed how pleased Sherlock was looking, if the thanks they suddenly gave to John was anything to go by, and offered to show them to their rooms.

 

“Rooms?”

 

Oops.

 

“That won’t be necessary mummy – John and I will share a room.” 

Noting the confusion on his parents’ faces, Sherlock realised that Mycroft hadn’t told them, and he probably should have checked beforehand. He then realized that not only was John going to shout at him, but he would no doubt have to deal with the questions from his parents and smug git that was Mycroft, although Sherlock would have some questions of his own for him, namely: Why the hell were they visiting if it weren’t so their parents could meet John?

 

Sherlock suddenly realised that while he had been thinking, he had somehow ended up in a bedroom when the door shut behind him. He could feel John’s anger and steeled himself for what was to come.

 

“Sherlock! I thought you had told them!” John shouted at him...although it was quite anger, more like...exasperation. 

“I told you they knew. I had merely assumed that Mycroft would have informed them - the interfering git that he is.” 

“Well obviously he didn’t! You’d better apologise at dinner or so help me God...” 

Deciding he ought to cut off John’s current train of thought, as John often carried out his threats, Sherlock stepped closer to him, and in his most seductive voice, asked John if he would be punished, before attempting to lead him backwards to the bed. 

“Sherlock...” 

“Joooohn.” 

“Sherlock. No. Not here.” 

Realising that due to the current mixture of emotion and location, he was unlikely to persuade John into bed before dinner, he switched tactic, secretly pleased that he would get to implement his plan quicker.

 

“Fine. But let me show you around the garden to make up for it." 

“The garden?” 

“It was one of my favourite places growing up, and I’d like to share it with you.”

 

Pleased that John acquiesced, Sherlock lead him out of the room, noting his father’s retreating figure and deciding that perhaps an apology wouldn’t be too bad if it meant surprising his parents and a bout of this-is-not-a-reward-sex with John.

 

**~John~**

 

John was still slightly confused as to why Sherlock was showing him around the garden, although he appreciated the stroll, so when they slowed beneath a gorgeous tree in the middle of the orchard (“Orchard? You never mentioned this.” “I said I had a garden.” “Not the same thing, Sherlock.”), he wasn’t surprised to see the carvings on the trunk of ‘SH’ and ‘MH’ – proof that the brothers had once been closer, or at least proof that there was a time when they weren’t ashamed to show it. 

John was about to ask Sherlock if he had a knife on him that John could use to add his own initials to the tree, when he turned and noticed that Sherlock had hung back slightly, looking rather worried.

 

“Sherlock? Are you ok?” 

“John. I, uh, don’t really know what the social protocol is in these situations...” 

“What situations?” 

“Well, I want to marry you.”

 

Oh.

 

John felt rather giddy inside, and he knew it showed, but he decided to have some fun with his lovable idiot, so he schooled his expression into one of mock seriousness, and addressed Sherlock.

 

“Well, normally, you’d get down on your knee...like this.”

 

John showed Sherlock, and was soon joined on the ground by Sherlock, who mirrored him precisely, apparently concentrating very hard on getting his proposal right.

 

Ha.

 

“You then give some sort of speech such as ‘Sherlock, I love you so much you daft git. When you died, I told you how much I owed you and respected you, and then you gave me a miracle. And now I owe you even more, because you’ve saved me not once, but twice. And despite the fact that you always tell me how much you hate sentiment, you’re proposing to me at your family home, although you are such a bit of an idiot for thinking that it’s got to be perfect. But you’re also amazing, and you’ve given me so many adventures that I never want them to end. ’...or something like that.” John finished, swallowing his tears before Sherlock noticed them, and looked up to see Sherlock’s brow was slightly furrowed.

 

“John, I may not know much, but I don’t think you’re meant to insult your partner when you propose.” 

“Oh, just get on with it.” 

 

“Ok. John, I have told you many times that you are ordinary. And that’s true. But at the same time you are so much more than anyone else. You are extraordinary. You don’t mind the heads in the fridge or the eyeballs in the microwave. You make me eat and sleep and socialise, all things that I hated before, but if I’m doing them with you, or for you, I don’t mind as much. You told me once that I gave your life meaning, and I think that applies the other way too, as before I was simply going from case to case, but now I have a reason to live outside of cases. I know that if we hadn’t met, you would have used your gun within the week anyway, and if the pill hadn’t killed me, then I’m sure I would have met you in the afterlife soon enough anyway. So, thank you for saving me.

You told me that you owe me so much, but I believe that I owe you a great deal also. You have made me the man you love. I know that sounds nonsensical, but I’m assuming that as it is sentimental, it doesn’t need to make sense.

I’ve brought you here as I wanted you to know how much I value you, and as it is apparently right to ask for your parent’s blessing, which is something I’m not going to do, I thought this would be close enough.” 

 

John realised that Sherlock was looking at him expectantly, and so once again stemmed the flow of tears, and managed to show Sherlock what to do next.

 

“Right. So...um. Then you take out the ring...” John careful wrapped his right hand around the loose ring in his pocket, thankfully unnoticed as Sherlock took his own ring out, also unboxed (apparently they had both wanted it to be a surprise).

 

“And say...” 

“John, will you marry me?” 

“Sherlock, will you marry me?”

 

John revelled in the look of surprise on Sherlock’s face as he presented him with the ring he had bought – apparently identical to the ring he then placed on his own finger – before he found himself lying on the ground beneath the detective.

 

“Do you mean it John?” Sherlock asked John’s neck, in between kisses. 

“Of course, you daft man.” 

“That’s YOUR daft man.” 

“Yes, yes it is.”

 

And so the two of them spent the remainder of the afternoon lying beneath the tree that held some of Sherlock’s happiest childhood memories, as well as the happiest moment of his and John’s life so far, and were content just lying next to each other, exchanging long kisses going nowhere (yet) and discussing their future. 

And if the pair noticed the smile on Violet’s face later, or Siger’s sudden interest in John’s family tree (as well as his shock at Sherlock’s apology), well...they weren’t going to say anything. After all, they had made no move to hide the rings, were incandescently happy and Sherlock had even agreed that John could certainly send the pair an invitation, as long as they didn’t mention 'it' until Sherlock and John were ready to tell...and Mycroft’s ‘favour’ had been returned.  


	7. Epilogue

**~John~**

 

The ceremony had been perfect, even if it was not the quick registrar-and-two-witnesses that the pair had been considering for until Violet (and Mrs Hudson) had persuaded them otherwise, and watching Sherlock moving across the room towards him John was glad they had – his husband ( _husband_!) looked amazing.

John couldn’t wait until the honeymoon. 

Sherlock smiled at him, as if he could tell what John was thinking, although given how he was also raking his eyes over John, there was no doubt that the thought was reciprocated.

Flashing a smile towards his new husband ( _husband_!) John turned his attention back towards Mrs Hudson, who was, herself, complimenting their new suits.

 

“It was rather beautiful. Aren’t you glad you had a proper ceremony?” 

“I shall never doubt you again Mrs Hudson.”

“And doesn’t Sherlock look dashing. Not that he doesn’t always, but that colour really brings out his eyes...” 

“Mmm...” John zoned out once again – having (virtually) been given permission to check out his husband ( _husband_!) – until a knock to his arm brought his attention back to Mrs Hudson. 

“Now Dr Watson really – I know you’ve just married, but the way you’re looking at him is just indecent.”

 

John barely had time to look abashed before he felt Sherlock approaching and quickly readied himself for worse. 

“Come, Mrs Hudson – you know that John would never do anything to cause you any discomfort...I on the other hand...” 

And suddenly John had a hand on his arse, a tongue in his mouth and no thoughts other than the fact that this was clearly Sherlock’s attempt to extract John from his conversation and get him on his own, not that he minded in the least.

 

**~Sherlock~**

Breaking the kiss he gazed down at his husband’s face, noting (with some relief) the knowing smile looking back at him, and shot Mrs Hudson a smile of him own, before subtly motioning towards Lestrade to help her to a seat before she either hit him or embraced him – of which Sherlock wasn’t particularly keen on either. 

Turning back to John he offered his hand.

 

“Care to dance, Dr Watson-Holmes?” 

“You’re evil, you know that?” 

“I know everything - I even know that their are nine planets in our solar system.”

 

John gazed up at Sherlock, before laughing that wonderful laugh and pulling him down into a kiss.

 

“There are only eight planets now."

"Damn, outdated information," Sherlock replied with a smile. "Now about that dance..."

 "You lead, and I’ll follow, you wonderful idiot.” 

“Always?” 

“Always.”

 

And so Mr Watson-Holmes led his husband onto the hastily prepared dance floor, and his husband followed, just as he always would.

As they span Sherlock gazed over John’s head at their small family talking at a table, no doubt about the ~~happy~~ ecstatic couple, but at that point Sherlock didn’t care.

He looked down at John –his soldier, his doctor, his conductor, his husband –and didn’t say anything. After all – John understood perfectly.


End file.
